


The Captain and The Wasp

by Miri1984



Category: Cracksmash - Fandom, Marvel Comics - Fandom, The Avengers, The Avengers Earth's Mightiest Heroes
Genre: F/M, Wasptain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:02:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cracksmash Tumblr RP and Earth's Mightiest Heroes, together with the amazing and talented Silver Raven, have launched the ship to sink all other ships, Wasptain! Captain America and the Wasp. A series of short (mostly) drabbles about an obscure OTP that I love to bits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comfort

The first time he thought about it it was totally inappropriate. She’d been upset ever since she’d come to the tower, and he had some idea of why although he would die before he asked her about it. Steve was filthy and sweaty from helping to clear the mess that Ross and his cronies had left and full of the restless energy that came from frustration with people who didn’t _care_ and there was Jan, asleep on one of the dusty couches, a cup of tea precariously balanced in her hand.

He took a moment just to look at her. She was very different to Peggy. He felt bad, comparing them, really, but the list of women he’d said more than three words together to was not very long, and comparisons were inevitable. Peggy had been… tall and strong and just a little bit frightening and he’d felt unbalanced whenever he was around her, as though the world was tilted in her direction. It had been an exhilarating feeling, one that had made his heart beat faster and his hands shake.

Jan was tiny, even when she wasn’t shrunk, and delicate in a way that Peggy certainly hadn’t been. Yet he’d seen her whipping around a room blasting things with her stingers with the same sort of effortless grace that Natasha had when she was fighting. Despite the difference in their size there was a strength and determination about her that was very familiar, something that drew him to her, the reason he’d asked her to join them.

He knelt next to the couch and gently took the teacup from her fingers, hoping to let her sleep, but he was too big or too clumsy, or he thought, slightly mortified, too _smelly_ and she startled awake, managing to splash the tea pretty much everywhere, including over him. She looked up and the expression of horror on her face was pretty darned adorable. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Gosh I’m so sorry!”

In that one second between saving the teacup and seeing her expression, he knew somewhere that something had flipped, some sort of instinct or attraction, and it was _wildly_ inappropriate, because a few minutes later she broke down into tears over another man (whom he had a sudden, strong urge to punch). He put his arm around her, because grief, well…

Grief was easy. It was something he knew. That she was Jan wasn’t important, (was very important, the part of his body that was pressed against hers was insisting, but that part was one he wasn’t used to listening to, and it went unheard) what _was_ important that she was in pain.


	2. Kiss

He has to bend down a long way to kiss her. It’s incredibly awkward and painfully embarrassing and a lot wetter than he ever expected a kiss to be, considering the last time he kissed someone he was traveling at 80 miles an hour and…

_Shut up Steve._

One of her small, gloved hands is touching his neck, and two of her fingers curl around his ear and he gasps into her mouth, his own hand splaying on her back to pull her closer. She makes a small sound, half whimper, half giggle, and her second hand, which he suddenly realizes is resting on his hip, slides around until it’s resting on his back, and then a little lower, and then there is a squeeze and he jumps, lifting his head, eyes wide and lips red.

Janet giggles, not moving her hand. “Always wanted to do that,” she says.

Words aren’t coming right now, but he nods, licking his lips.

So, it seems, did he.


	3. Ambush

Kissing becomes a thing.

Steve loves it. He never thought about… _kissing_ as being the thing he would love, but there’s something unbelievably special about those stolen moments, with Jan, in the elevator at Stark Tower, or behind a building after they’ve destroyed some evil robots, or outside the door of her apartment before she grins at him and closes the door or that one time in the gym, or…

They kiss a lot. 

He wonders sometimes, if Jarvis is watching this, wonders if Tony is in his workshop sniggering at them, or Clint and Natasha, who seem to have security feeds for every place in New York, are in Clint’s apartment eating popcorn and criticizing his technique. He doesn’t think too much about that, though, because that way paranoia lies and heck, he’s Captain America and if he wants to kiss Janet Van Dyne he should be allowed to. 

In his teenage imagination it was always touching that was taboo, he’d spent so long _looking,_ at the curve of hips and breasts, the lines of arms and cheekbones, memorizing flaws and flawlessness so he could translate it into his pencil and onto paper, that he used to dream about what it would be like to touch the join between hip and buttock, the ridge of the spine, the bone of a hip or the curve in the arch of a foot…

Kissing hadn’t been something he’d really imagined. It had always been too real, something to be done with a wife or a soon to be wife, something that good girls didn’t do before they were married and Steve wouldn’t ever ask for because… well because he was Steve Rogers and girls laughed at him when he asked them to dance.

Then he’d been accosted by Helen in HQ that one time, that one, hilariously badly timed and tragic time, and it had almost certainly screwed up or delayed things with Peggy to the point were the next time he kissed someone it was…

_…Shut up Steve._

Janet seems to take great delight in ambushing him. He really doesn’t mind. He’ll be coming in from his run and she’ll suddenly appear, full sized, and push him into a corner, behind a pillar so the doorman can’t see them, and it’ll seem like she’s climbing him (she sort of has to in order to reach his lips) and he’ll bend down and they’ll kiss until he remembers he has to shower and change or breathe and breaks away. She doesn’t mind that he’s sweaty and smelly and he eventually stops being embarrassed by it, especially after she says once that he smells good when he’s been out — “Like freedom and apple pie!” which he is sure is some sort of joke because he thinks he smells like sweat but he’s not going to argue with her, not when she has her hands locked in the small of his back and her head buried in his neck, breathing in and peppering him with kisses... 

Once Tony walks in while she has him pinned against a potted fern and his hands are full of black and yellow and soft and _Janet_ one second, and empty the next, her small wings fluttering next to his ear as Tony does a double take… “You all right, Cap?” — “Just fine…ah… Tony…” and her laughter, soft and sweet and warm on the back of his neck, her tiny, tiny hands tracing patterns on the short hairs there until he thinks he’s going to go crazy…

He’s sure they know.

He’s sure Natasha knows. 

He’s _definitely_ sure Tony knows.

But Janet hasn’t said anything else and Steve, who knows full well everyone else thinks he’s so honest it hurts, doesn’t think it’s his place. Maybe they suspect, but don’t think he could keep it secret. Maybe they’re all watching the security feed _right now_ and when he goes up to the meeting they’ll point accusing fingers at him and he’ll die of embarrassment…

He likes the kissing, he tells himself. 

He likes Janet.

_He has no idea what’s going on._


	4. Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The problem is, he’s Steve Rogers, Captain America, and he has, after ninety-four years of existence on the planet, finally managed to get himself a girlfriend.

Moonlight creeps through a gap in Jan’s curtains, touching her hair as she sleeps. He represses an urge to push it back from her face so he can see the curve of her cheek, content just to watch her, hoping that the bruises under her eyes will fade a little with him here to ease the nightmares.

It’s not how he imagined spending his first night with her.

Not that he has imagined it.

Much. 

Well.

That’s not strictly true.

The problem is, he’s Steve Rogers, Captain America, and he has, after ninety-four years of existence on the planet, finally managed to get himself a girlfriend.

The problem is…

Bluntly.

Not to jump around the point, or anything. 

It’s just that…

Well.

_Sex is a problem._

Steve would like to have it, there’s no question about that at all, but despite what Tony and Clint seem to think, it’s not something that simply happens when two people are in a room together. Jac’s teasing and Natasha’s knowing looks aside, there is something fundamentally wrong with the fact that he’s technically a ninety-four year old virgin, and he knows, intellectually, that it’s a stupid thing to think, but it doesn’t stop him from thinking it and thinking it means… it’s a problem.

It’s not a big deal.

_But it is._

The thing is… the thing IS… the thing apart from the thing that is a problem and tied into it as well because really, the problem is…

He gets shot. He gets shot by Bucky of all people, and although he doesn’t know it’s Bucky and although, actually, it kinda helps things along a little (a dose of mortality can do wonders for putting the boot up an ass that has been dragging its feet… _metaphor was never his strong suit_ …) it also meant that there were things happening that brought up bad memories and…

There is a moment, at Jan’s, when he kisses her, and he thinks that possibly probably going to bed with her would take his mind off the fact that his best friend has been mindwiped and is trying to kill him but…

….no.

He realizes, when she asks him what she can do for him, that this is not the way to start any sort of relationship, really, and having sex with someone for reasons other than… well… having sex with someone is not healthy. He doesn’t want that. While the boys in the Commandos, and Tony, and Tasha and even Clint and Peter to some extent, have made it clear that sex is really _not that big a deal_ , he does know that he wants his reasons for doing it to be clear and not…

…because he wants to forget something else.

There are more problems. 

Avenger style problems. Always. They reel from crisis to crises like drunken sailors and it seems that these problems are specifically designed to…

_No Steve, they are not._

_And any way, it’s not that big a deal._

Ultron happens. Steve knows it’s not very charitable to want to punch the lights out of his girlfriend’s ex, but he really… _really_ does. Amidst the worry about Jan and the gnawing guilt from the deal with Loki, and the missing of Tasha and the worry about Bucky there is a hard kernel of _urge to punch_ that eased briefly after Hank helped them out that one time but that has returned in full force. 

Steve is willing to admit that he is possibly a little frustrated. 

 _“Steve? S-Steve, are you - c-can you come over?_ Please?”

Three in the morning and he doesn’t think, just pulls on clothes and goes to her, because to feel _needed_ for something — something that doesn’t involve fighting or leading or being Captain America — that _is_ a big deal. 

_“Just tell me what you need.”_

_“I-I need — I want — can you stay? I can’t — every time I try to sleep, all I can think of is being back there, alone, and — I can’t make myself stop thinking that. I’m trying. I can’t.”_

He stays. He has a moment of hesitation, before taking off his shoes and slipping into the bed, but it’s being brought up by nuns and told to be a gentleman and the mistaken idea of a reputation that can be damaged by things that are nobody else’s business, and the moment is quashed and he lies down with her and pulls her into his arms and she settles against him with a sigh and it is… right.

Sex may be a problem, but it’ll sort itself out.

_After all it isn’t really that big a deal._


	5. Home

Jan leads him back up to her apartment and if he wasn’t nervous enough to be shaking (he’s not shaking, but he’s close to it) he would laugh at the determination in her step. When she reaches the door of her apartment and fumbles for her keys, without letting go of his hand, he gently extricates her fingers from his and smiles at her.

“I’m not going to run away,” he says.

She laughs and uses her newly freed hand to get the key in the lock. “No you are definitely _not_ going to run away,” she says, pushing the door open and tossing her keys onto the hall table. She takes both his hands in hers, and tugs him into the room. He stumbles a little and she laughs, catching him with one arm around his waist and he desperately tries to stop himself from flattening her, she is so much more fragile than he is…

…But _not,_ because he has seen her grow to the ceiling and smash her enemies to dust with a single blow and that _strength_ is part of the reason he wants to enfold her in his arms and kiss her senseless or possibly do other things which are definitely on the cards and oh god…that thought is enough to make his head spin.

They stop, in the middle of the room, and he kisses her, and he kisses her long and slow, half because he loves it, and half because he’s frightened of what might happen next.

He pulls back, and looks into her eyes. They are frank, wide and… _beautiful_ and he thinks he is stupid to be frightened of anything when she’s in the room. 

Janet is not frightening. Not to him. She is the _opposite._

“I really wasn’t exaggerating when I said I’m not…”

She puts a finger on his lips. “It’s all right, Steve. It’s actually not that difficult.”

“I guess not… once you get to this stage…” her fingers are still at his mouth, her thumb running over his bottom lip. He tilts his head into her palm and closes his eyes, breathing deep.

She shakes her head and pulls his head back down for another kiss. Her other hand is busy on his back, and it takes him a little while to realise that she’s pulling his shirt out of his pants. When her hand encounters his undershirt he feels her lips curve into a smile against his. “Oh, Captain America. You are so _entirely proper.”_

He chuckles. “It’s cold out.”

“Not cold here,” she says, and finally her fingers find skin and her hand is sliding under his shirt and _oh my._

Her fingers are warm and dry; her nails lightly scrape and despite her assurance that it isn’t cold (it isn’t) they raise gooseflesh as she trails them around to his stomach, gently freeing the fabric as she goes. He tenses and pulls back when she hits his abdomen, sudden ticklishness that seems to delight her, then her hand is flat against his stomach and sliding up… up…

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathes, and her smile becomes positively wicked.

“Here,” she says softly, and takes his hand, guiding it to her waist, to the gap between her top and her skirt, the fabric soft and silky against his fingers for a few seconds before he touches skin. 

He doesn’t need any encouragement to echo her own movements under his shirt, and he dips his head forward into her neck as he does so, breathing hard. 

She hums happily, then laughs again when he has difficulty with the clasp on her bra. “Something funny?” he says.

“I guess they would have been different in your day,” she says.

“Wouldn’t have a clue,” he murmurs as something gives and the garment comes undone. He feels a surge of triumph that is quickly quashed by the realisation that he’ll have to take her shirt off before his efforts will bear any actual fruit.

“Steven Grant Rogers, aren’t you supposed to be a master strategist?”

He has started working on the buttons of her shirt, brain fogging over. “Sometimes you have to take the opportunity that arises first and worry about sorting things out after,” he says. 

“Speaking of rising opportunities…”

He groans, but only for a second because while he’s stuck on her buttons she’s decided to move _her_ hands lower and he really _really doesn’t know if he can do this._

“Jan. Oh _god, Jan…”_

“Shh, come here.”

They tumble onto her bed. There’s some confusion about pants and shoes, but it’s sorted out before he can get too embarrassed about that at least and then…

He swallows as he looks at her. He’s seen the… parts before, of course he has. Drawn them. Studied them for hours. 

Not the same. So far from the same that he’s amazed. The _intimacy_ of it sets his fingers to tingling and his heart pounding in his ears, that she would trust him enough, that they can be this close to one another and _touch…_

Her eyes are dark and she is smiling softly, her hands trailing up his arms to cup his neck and pull him down for a kiss. Her lips are still touching his when she speaks. “You okay there soldier?”

He takes a breath and nods. “Yes,” he says. Her hands are strong on the back of his head now and she guides him to her neck, then lower. She smells like spices and sunlight, she tastes like salt and he doesn’t think he’s ever been _aware_ of another person as much as he is right now.

Jan is patient, and quietly amused, and occasionally downright amazing. He is, when it comes down to it, less nervous than he thought he would be. After all, with so little basis for comparison he really can’t be certain if he’s screwed it all up, and Jan, afterwards, laughing, shiny with sweat, hits him in the chest and tells him not to be an idiot. It’s a big deal, and then it isn’t, and it feels right to have shared this with her. Not to mention…

… _good._

She gently cards her hand through his hair, his head resting on her chest and his hand on her stomach. He feels safe. Things are… _still._

For the first time since he’s woken up he feels… _home._


End file.
